Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“You are,” I say, so damn impressed by her. “You’re powerful and strong.”
“You’re strong too. It took a lot of guts to talk to the press tonight.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Nah. Just some drugs.”
“What? You’d better not be on drugs.”
I wiggle a brow. “I think I’ve been a little high all day long.” I pause, locking eyes with her. “On you.”
“Stop it,” she whispers, but it’s playful and seems to say go on.
Here in the equipment room, surrounded by helmets, sticks, pucks, pads, and all kinds of gear, I reach for her hair, stroking the ends of the ponytail. “I have not been able to stop thinking about what it was like to kiss you.”
“Max, you really shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t do this,” she says, but she reaches for my shirt collar, her nimble fingers playing with it.
“I know,” I admit. Neither one of us stops touching the other.
“Things are intense here at work. I found out today Elias is competing for the promotion now, and it’s tougher,” she says with a sigh.
A dose of protectiveness rockets through me. “The guy who looks like he’s twelve? The one who’s always asking us to sign hockey sticks to give away during the intermissions? It’s not just me that he asks—he asks all the guys all the time.”
She laughs lightly. “That’s him. He used to play in college too. Which he likes reminding me of.”
“Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve the job. You do.”
“It doesn’t even matter. He used to play. He’s got connections. His uncle’s the general counsel, and I don’t want to be the…” She doesn’t finish the thought but it’s clear what she means—she doesn’t want to be the woman who’s getting silky gifts from one of the players.
I think about her dilemma for a minute, but I don’t have any useful answers. There’s nothing I can do right now anyway. I’ve got my own problems. “I wish it weren’t like this either,” I say heavily.
I wish, too, I didn’t need her so much right now in my professional life. But there’s a message on my phone from my agent telling me he’s proud of me for saying something to the media tonight. There’s an image of the bagel of the day. There’s a memory of the injury in my rookie season that could have been so much worse.
But there’s something else I need to say tonight to her too. Something important. I let go of her hair, and she drops her hand from my collar. “You’ve been trying to do your job for over a year, and I’ve been an asshole.”
She tilts her head, her smile kinder than I deserve, considering how I’ve railroaded her. “But that’s not who you are. You’re not a jerk. You’re kind of soft underneath.”
I growl. “Pro tip: do not ever call a man soft.”
She rolls her eyes, then sets a hand on my chest like she’s feeling my heart beating under her palm. Hell, I can feel it speed up as she spreads her fingers across the fabric of my shirt, then says, “I’ve seen you with your nephew. You’re soft when it matters. And thank you in advance for trusting me.”
I didn’t trust her for a long while. But things have changed now that I’ve gotten to know her. I’ve seen her heart, her passion, and her hope for the future. “I do trust you, Everly. I didn’t when we started this, but I do now.”
Her smile deepens, touches someplace inside me that’s rarely touched. “I’m glad,” she says.
I should say goodnight to her. I should leave this room. I should get on that bus. But a glance at my watch tells me there are twelve more minutes before we have to leave.
My gaze swings down to her pants, then back up to her face. “I really want to see how you look in them,” I say in a needy rasp.
She’s quiet for several seconds before she whispers, “Do you want me to send you a picture later?”
More than I want my next breath. “Yes,” I say in a rough demand. But I know that won’t be enough to satisfy me. I tip my chin toward her. “Give me a sneak peek now.”
She doesn’t need any convincing. As she stands against the wall in her trim slacks, heels, and blouse, her right hand slides down to the waistband and she’s unbuttoning then unzipping and…I groan.
How does she get sexier by the day? I didn’t know that feat was possible, but Everly Rosewood pulls it off. Here, surrounded by gear, with a fluorescent light flickering overhead, Everly unzips her slacks, spreads the waistband open, and shows me the beautiful blue lace.
It’s just a tease, but in a second my chest is a furnace. My dick is a telephone pole. “It’s almost better than if you were in my jersey,” I rasp out.